Dungeons and Dragons: The Tale of Rolen Smith
by kwakigra
Summary: The adventures of Rolen Smith, a half-elf alchemist turned sorcerer adventurer. I'm getting back into writing, so please provide any and all constructive criticism.
1. Chapter 1: Origins

Rolen Smith shambled out of bed and toward his medicine chest. Rifling through the vials and bottles, he came across the potion he was looking for. One brew to cure a hangover, another to provide energy. He poured them both into his bedside goblet and drank the concoction quickly. Bitter. He retched as usual but the years of practice kept him from expelling it immediately. It was nothing like the vague sweetness of a valuable healing potion, but at least he was feeling better.

His blurry vision began to clear and his small room came into view around him. A single window with a view of the street below shone light onto his straw bed. He could hear the noises of the city on the street below. Many voices drowned each other out to create a single drone. There was the neighing of horses and the clops upon the cobblestone. Beside his medicine chest was a dresser, and across the room sat his desk. It was a modest dwelling in a modest house in a respectable district of Waterdeep.

He glanced at a mirror that hung on his wall. He saw a young man with short cropped auburn hair and olive skin. He was a bit short, even for a half-elf, and it had been a while since he had some good exercise. His features were sharp and his ears pointed. He gave himself a slick smile. Spying his clock on the desk, he could see that it was almost time for work, but there was plenty of time to go leisurely.

Rolen was a self-employed Alchemist. Over the years he had gradually earned his place in the community through his relationship with the Alchemist's guild. During his apprenticeship, he found that he was a good salesman and often had the solution to most of life's problems. His strategy was to step back and find the root of his potential customers' issues, and try to solve that. With Alchemy, there usually was a solution given a bit of inspiration and creativity. It was a long road, but owning his own business had become a worthy reward. He had come a long way from being the only child of a small-town blacksmith.

Rolen often thought of his childhood and the unfairness of it. He had never known his elven mother, and his Human father rarely spoke of her other than to say that she left because she had more important things to deal with. Of course, that was the polite way of saying that she got bored. It was not unusual to have a single parent in Rolen's circles, but it was usually something to do with an Orc attack or fleeing from persecution. He was too embarrassed to admit that his mother with simply tired of her man and child. His father was a stoic and harsh man, soft spoken until he ran out of patience. With Rolen his temper was often short, especially since his early blacksmith apprenticeship was one of countless errors and a general lack of enthusiasm. Life was hard in a small town as a half-elf, especially with an unsympathetic and clueless father. He had a hard time making friends and spent most of the time alone with his books, which his father was at least able to provide. One day, he came across a volume that would come to shape his future, "Beginner's Alchemy."

With just the common ingredients found in the woods and simple tools that were available around the house, he began to take control of his own life. His peers thought it was a strange habit until they sampled what he had to make. Simple energy potions, mood-enhancing potions, and more complicated brews like potions of bravery helped him and his new friends. Even his father came to make use of certain concoctions that allowed for long hours of precise work. Potion making occupied most of his time and became something of an obsession. His search for new potions finally peaked when he found the one that he would hold above all others.

He found it in an obscure section of an advanced tome. It was a potion to connect oneself to one's inner spirit. A deep delve into one's own mind and the connection one had to the multitude of planes. While remaining his his physical body, he was able to explore the world inside himself and how his own mind connected to the greater universe. He had conversations with the likes of Modrons and Fey on one hand and devils and yugoloths on the other. He, and every living creature, were connected to all realms on a deep and spiritual level. It was an exhausting process, but the depths of awakening he was able to access were unrivaled. Through his explorations, he found that he could no longer remain in his small town and set out to the largest city he knew of.

Rolen descended the stairs into his the shop. The walls were packed with herbs, teas, containers, apparatuses, spell components, and everything aside from alchemicals themselves. For security, he brewed all potions on demand from a catalog he kept on the counter. Few thieves would find any value in dried leaves and dust. Most potions he was able to concoct on the spot, but a few had to be ordered ahead of time. Usually though, he had plenty of time to sit behind the counter and indulge in his original passion: reading. He sat down and opened his book, "A History of Zakharan Alchemy."

The day went as usual. His shop was relatively popular in the neighborhood. People needed a little support sometimes in their daily lives, and potions were often an easy solution. Most were benign, some had side effects, some were particularly dangerous, but all had their place. As was his specialty, sometimes he would need to prod his customers to find out the real issues underlying their requests. Sometimes the solution was beyond him and sometimes the solution was a simple pint of ale, of which he would recommend his favorite pub owned by his favorite business associate. Only on a very rare and special occasion, usually outside of work, would he share the potion that had set him on his current life path.

As the day concluded, his duties shifted to accounting. He sipped something that would stave off the boredom of his least favorite task. There were some Alchemists who swore off the use of their own products, but he was not one of them, nor did he want to be. There were certain potions that had addictive qualities that had to be moderated to specific regimens, but others were less dangerous. What was the use of being an expert if one could not take advantage of ones own expertise? It was a common saying that there were two kinds of alchemists, those who made potions and those who made bombs. Rolen was proud to fall in the former group, although he was aware of how to make certain explosives solely for interests' sake.

Wrapping up his work, he locked his doors and went back upstairs into his home. Today there was no time to socialize as he usually did. He had long ago decided that once a month, his mind would depart the physical plane.

He sat in the middle of his mostly empty living room on the second floor, legs crossed and meditating. It was one thing he had picked up from his Elven heritage, not from a parent but from a book. He found that rather than having the potion activate at some random time while he was engaged in some other activity, meditating put him in the proper mind space to ensure the smoothest transition into the depths of himself. He thought upon his childhood again. He forgave his mother and father as he had done countless times before. He forgave his ignorant childhood peers who had hated him for his differences and liked him only when he became useful. He felt at peace as his mind began to alter.

He opened his eyes. The world was rushing past him at an unbelievable speed. His room, the neighborhood, Waterdeep, Faerun all came into view quickly and dissolved into one another. He rushed past the planet Toril and into the space between the planes. Finally, the process reversed itself and even more quickly he landed in his own mind. All around him were patterns of infinite colors and shape. He was floating in an endless sea of geometric designs. Lights trailed around him and flickered in and out of existence. Finally, he landed.

He stood in an unbelievable palace. The dimensions of the room in which he stood were beyond comprehension. A gargantuan crystalline wall rose higher than he could see up and into either direction. In the center of it was an unbelievably beautiful throne. Sitting upon it was one he had never seen before but could instantly recognize. He stood in the presence of Mystara.

She spoke only a single word, "Rolen." His own name filled his spirit with joy that was overwhelming. He felt that his body and soul could disentangle and disintegrate simply from the power of the utterance of his own name. There was deeper meaning in it, and at once he had understanding. This place was connected to him in a way that nothing else could possibly be. He felt that he was a small part of this place and everything that he was came from here.

He felt a true awakening of knowledge as he never had before. Energy coursed through his body and exploded outward. He was a part of this place, and this place was infinite magic. Once again, everything began to move and he was hurled through the palace at an exponential rate. Fire, Ice, Electricity, and Earth swirled around him as he flew, emanating from his own body. When Mystara had spoken his name she had not only awakened him, but given him a charge. To have one's name be spoken by a God was a very sacred thing, and with that he knew that he had responsibilities beyond what he had ever known.

Suddenly he was back in his living room in perfect clarity. Although he was back on the material plane, he felt the same as he did a moment ago. He held out his hand in a cup, and fire spontaneously generated from it. He snapped his fingers on the same hand and the fire disappeared. He held out his finger and sparks flew from it, ceasing when he willed them to. He looked within himself, and found great power. The power was divine. The power did not come from Mystara, but he came from Mystara. It was a rebirth. It was his sacred duty to enact Mystara's will in the world.

He slowly walked to his cabinet and poured himself some whiskey. It was a lot to take in, and he had a lot to think about.

Lucky watched as Rolen shot another fire bolt, shattering an empty bottle. He laughed and said, "Ay, that sure be somthin'."

Lucky was an older human who had a long life at sea. He came to port at Waterdeep every few months and was a regular customer of Rolen's. They had gained a mutual respect and friendship over the years.

Rolen launched another fire bolt and another bottle shattered, "This isn't all. I can enshroud myself with magical armor, cause people to go to sleep at will, conjure illusions, and bless people with supernatural fortune. Of course, my favorite thing is that my potions aren't bitter anymore."

Lucky stroked his beard, "Arr, that's a lot to be sure. And yer wantin' to know what tae do with it?"

Rolen stopped firing, "That's it. Until now I've been living a pretty simple life, and a mostly meaningless one. In my travels across the planes I've seen more than this world has to offer, but I had never stopped to think what I had to offer this world. There is surely evil in the world, but I've found that people rarely do evil out of malice. They simply do what's good for them without considering the effect on others. It's not malice, but apathy at the source of most of the world's ills. Where could I possibly start in addressing this?"

Lucky was quick with a response, "Yar, the evil of man be somethin' truly terrible, and it is as you say. 'Carse thar be evil beyond what men do, and the evils that men do commit need fixin'. Adventurin' may be what ye seek. Most do it fer the gold, but all that post work have a job that need doin'."

Rolen wrinkled his nose, "Mercenary work, huh? I can shoot fire out of my hands but I'm still an alchemist bookworm."

"Thar be those adventurin' with far less. I've had me share meself. The appeal to ye remains that the work is that what need doin'. Killin' monsters afor they kill little children, findin' those absconded with, solvin' crimes what the authorities don't want tae. All's noble work."

Rolen thought about it for a moment, "I'm sure it's not all noble work. Like what I was saying before, there are too many who believe that they have the moral authority do do anything that results in what they see as a positive outcome. I'm not a sage, how can I avoid getting caught up in some crusade that ultimately amounts to upholding an oppressive authority?"

Lucky smiled, "There's none among us who is perfect, but that sentiment will take ye most of the way. Rest easy, thar be few moral quandaries when it comes to slayin' goblins. Nasty little critters would level villages if you let em."

Rolen responded, "True, there are things in the world that are objectively bad but wouldn't the bad be the act rather than the actor? I have heard tell of goblins in this very city living peacefully among the many races of Waterdeep. If this is true, it would indicate that goblins are not fundamentally evil, or are at least capable of sapient thought to the extent that killing them indiscriminately would itself be evil as I described it earlier."

Lucky laughed, "I've rarely met a fool what had sympathy for goblins. If ye see what they be capable of doin' to innocent folk ye'd change yer tune quick."

Rolen shrugged, "Maybe. Maybe there is something to destroying evil where it manifests."

Lucky was still smiling, "Yer the type that think somethin' over so long they have no time to act fer all the thinkin' they be doin'. Tell me, who does it help to think about not killin' goblins while they burn down farms and kill women and children?"

Rolen smiled himself, "You're right as usual Lucky, perhaps I am overthinking this. What matters is actions rather than motivations. It is at least something to react to evil. I only worry about the creatures that choose to do evil, as despicable as it can be. What circumstances bring a person, or creature with intelligence, to do evil? There are the classic motivations like lust, envy, and greed, but there is also desperation, self-preservation, and cowardly weakness. Evil deserves punishment, but would it not better serve society that evil be prevented?" He caught himself, "Certainly, but that's a problem beyond what I'm capable of addressing right now. It is time to take action on what is within my power. Thank you as usual, Lucky. Too often I'm trapped in my own head."  
Lucky bowed exaggeratedly, "My pleasure, young sage. Now, let's be off to celebrate yer new path. On me most recent voyage I learned of a drink popular in Kara Tur. It's delicious and strong, and I know ye share me taste in such things. It's on me, lad."

As usual, Lucky was able to show him a great time. That evening was a long one and Rolen became ever more confident of the path he would be to walk. Despite everything, there was objective good he could do.


	2. Chapter 2: The First Step

Rolen found himself in the tavern of a small town just outside Waterdeep, looking at the notice board. A request had come up to retrieve stolen jewels that had belonged to a local wizard. Protecting the practice of magic was high on Rolen's list of priorities, and the task seemed simple enough. It was a small wrong to be righted, but he had to start somewhere. He read the details further. Some members of a nomadic group, the Gur, were suspected of being the thieves. Rolen didn't know much about the Gur but was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. The suspected perpetrator was last seen traveling into the forest.

He had been traveling for only a few days equipped with supplies that Lucky had helped him to find. On his back he wore a pack containing a kit with most things an adventurer would need. Strapped to it was a crossbow that Lucky had convinced him he needed. On his belt he wore a simple dagger, which he intended mainly to use cutting fruit.

After accepting the mission with the tavern master, he was directed to a small group of adventurers who had also agreed to the task. A woman was decorated with twigs and leaves and carried a staff, she must have been what is know as a druid. She was chatting with a man who was standing close to her. He wore two hand-axes on his belt and stood with his chest puffed out. Two-weapon fighting was a specialty of rangers, Rolen had heard. They glanced at him but went back to their conversation.

There was another man of nature keeping to himself, a ranger's bow draped across his shoulder. He tended to a mug of ale quietly. Alongside him was a magic user by the looks of things. He wore a glove decorated with jewels which Rolen guessed was a casting focus. He had an owl perched upon his shoulder, probably a wizard's familiar. The wizard waved at Rolen, smiling.  
Another mage stood by sullenly, playing idly with dark energy from hand to hand. Rolen guessed the energy was fiendish in origin; this man had the look of a warlock. He didn't acknowledge Rolen at all. Finally, an armed holy man dressed in heavy armor introduced himself to Rolen, "How do you do? I am Orel, cleric of Helm."

Rolen shook his hand, "Rolen; I can shoot fire from my hands." The warlock snickered.

Rolen wondered if this was the common practice for adventurers. They were almost perfect strangers but were expected to work together toward a common goal. This was a motley crew who he barely had the chance to speak to. Rolen felt awkward among the group. He felt unqualified for the task at hand in front of these individuals who were armed and armored on a level he had not and possibly would not attain.

The atmosphere at the tavern was tense. The patrons grumbled about the Gur in highly disparaging terms. As a lifelong outsider himself, Rolen took the patrons' glares and jeers somewhat personally although he tried not to show it. Seeing the party, a young-looking elven woman in the trappings of a wizard approached the group, probably guessing what the adventurers were up to. As she approached the warlock got up and went to the bar, dismissing her. She told the rest of the group, "I do not share the superstitious beliefs of my fellow townsfolk. The Gur are people just as anyone else. From what I can see, they share in the fear of this town. There is a greater evil at play here. Treat the Gur fairly and they could become important allies in our struggle."

The haughty rangers snorted, "Thieves are thieves no matter how scared they are."

The quiet ranger shrugged, "I think we should listen to her. I don't know anything about this town or the people involved and she does."

Orel agreed, "Indeed, but if this Gur man is the culprit he should face justice."

The haughty ranger replied, "Just in the last few hours I've heard enough about the Gur to know that they should all be facing justice."

Rolen kept silent for the discussion and observed. The warlock ordered another drink, smiling at the group in a patronizing way. The druid stood by her ranger companion silently and the wizard simply seemed amused by the conversation. Rolen wondered how they would be able to work together.

They set out without many words among them. Rolen enshrouded himself with protective magic for the trip. The trek through the forest was uneventful and quiet. The members of the group acted independently based on their own skills and knowledge. If they had anything in common it was put aside in the interests of the mission. The rangers scouted ahead while the group walked in a careful silence.

One of the rangers spotted something in a clearing and halted the group. Their wizard sent his familiar, an owl, to investigate. He, looking through the owl's eyes, relayed to them that there were two parties standing in the clearing undergoing a negotiation. One party, a Gur man, indeed had the wizard's jewels. He was attempting to barter them for some unknown vials. The other party was a gnome woman under guard by four rough looking men.

Before they could come up with a plan Orel and rangers boldly strode into the grove. Rolen dove into the brush and hid, trying to get a good vantage point on what was happening. What were they thinking? They hadn't even considered discussing a plan of action to retrieve the jewels. Rolen hoped that they had something in mind that he was not aware of.

As the gnome watched them approach she greeted them, "Ah, visitors. It's so nice to see adventurers from time to time strolling through the woods. Much better than finding goblins. Come here, have some brandy." Her saccharine method of speaking was all too obvious to Rolen, who made his living reading people. This woman clearly had a trick up her sleeve.

The haughty ranger gladly accepted and approached. This alarmed Rolen, but he was too far away to give a warning. This was some kind of trap and this man was walking right into it. Before the he could accept the brandy, Rolen stood up and threw out an enchantment. One of the guards instantly passed out and fell onto the ground.

The gnome whipped her head from the fallen guard to the group, thinking fast. She shouted, "Guards! Attack but leave them alive!"

The next few moments happened very quickly. The gnome woman and Gur man darted away. The remaining guards took up formation and moved against the group, who in turn engaged them. Rolen was thankful for his positioning well away from the melee. The cleric and rangers were a whirl of axes and maces, while the guards attacked with their spears. The guards drew first blood against the haughty ranger, wounding him. In response, the ranger struck the guard in the torso with his two axes, hurting the man critically. The guard hit the ground hard, and the other guards were shocked at the escalation. There was a long pause. The gnome, who had been hiding behind her wagon with the Gur, looked like she was about to say something. No sooner had she opened her mouth did monsters set upon them.

These creatures were of the forest. Two of them were small, humanoid, and made of wood. The other two were very large, humanoid, and made of various foliage. They began ruthlessly attacking the adventurers and guards alike. Rolen remembered what the elven woman had said at the tavern. She had mentioned a greater evil, but he had assumed it would be more esoteric. Wherever they came from, these monstrosities were attacking people indiscriminately and had to be dealt with. He scrambled for his crossbow.

The two groups formed up and fought the monsters back, though they proved formidable. The smaller creatures darted around, nipping at the heels of the druid and wizard. The larger creatures engaged the guards, the cleric, and the rangers. Their attacks were brutal, coming one after another. In the flurry, Orel stabilized the fallen guard with holy magic. Rolen shot his crossbow as fast as he could. First he struck a smaller one and split it. The second bolt struck a larger one who appeared to shrug it off.

During the scuffle, the warlock had made his way through the group. Force energy shot from his hand and destroyed one of the wheels of the wagon. The terrified gnome and Gur cowered behind the destroyed vehicle. The warlock cornered them and demanded the stolen gems back, his eyes and hands glowing with dark energy.

In all the excitement, Rolen had little time to think, although he had the inkling that he had read about these creature before. Suddenly, it came to him. Rolen shouted out, "The small ones are needle blights, and the big ones are vine blights. Neither of them belong here!" as he fired his crossbow at one of the needle blights. Something much more dangerous than these creatures had brought them to this place.

The monsters brought down the three remaining guards with heavy blows while the druid and wizard destroyed the needle blights. Orel tended to them as he had the other guard. Suddenly, a vine blight brought down the haughty ranger. The druid launched into action. She cast a spell on her fallen companion, and he arose with renewed vigor. In desperation, he attacked the vine blight who had brought him down. The vine blight was surprised and didn't have the chance to defend itself. With several blows from his axes, the ranger cut it down. The remaining monster charged him but collapsed on the ground just short of reaching his mark, an arrow sticking from the back of its head. The quiet ranger lowered his bow. The monsters were defeated. Rolen let out a sigh of relief from his far away spot. He realized that at no point had he been anywhere near the violence despite all the deaths that could have occurred. He felt cowardly at his actions during the fray.

On the other side of the clearing, the satisfied warlock wrenched the gems away from the terrified gnome. Seeing this, the cleric attempted to tackle him, but landed face-first in the mud as the warlock easily side-stepped him. The two glared at one another before the warlock walked back to the group with the jewels in hand.  
The gnome shouted at the group, "If I can't have my jewels, at least give me my vials back!" The wizard waved his hand and enchanted her, and her face went blank.

The wizard commanded, "You don't need the vials anymore. Tell us what's in them."

She responded in a monotone, "I don't need the vials anymore. Two have holy water, the rest are just plain water."

The druid picked out the holy water and threw the rest of the vials on the ground, shattering them. The gnome woman looked on, not reacting.

The quiet ranger asked the Gur man, "What did you need holy water for?"

The Gur responded, "An evil is coming, and the blights were its harbingers. I need it to protect my family." The druid gave him the remaining vials of holy water. Orel shook his head and let the man go.

They returned to town with the gems, their mission completed. The group parted ways with few words.

Rolen was shaken by the experience. The monsters were beyond his abilities and the mission was anything but smooth. The other adventurers had almost killed a man, had almost died themselves, and he wasn't comfortable with the methods they had used in procuring the gems. Was this what is was to be an adventurer? Terror and violence?

After a long journey back to his house, he got back to his room he poured himself a glass of whiskey. His magic was limited and his crossbow had only a little effect on the situation. He would have been an accessory to murder if they hadn't been accompanied by a cleric, but no one would be investigating what crimes may have been committed in such a small village. He had almost seen one of his companions crushed to death by a viscous monster, something that could just as easily have befallen him. Finally, the group conducted themselves as thugs to get what they needed. Rolen wondered if this was the norm.

Still though, there was another quandary. Had taking the gems been necessary? Rolen would have preferred to retrieve them without the threat of violence or mental trickery, but what if the peaceful avenues were futile? His own actions were hardly above reproach. He had been the one to trigger the attack based on gut instinct. He was just as afraid as his peers. He thought of his own words to Lucky earlier, he had committed evil through cowardly weakness while evil was being committed.

Then there was Orel. He acted honorably through the entire ordeal. He showed mercy to his enemies and challenged his peers when they acted dishonorably. He showed the kind of bravery that was rare among men. Perhaps there were at least two kinds of adventurers. Rolen resolved to be the latter. There was still evil that had to be corrected, and he could at the very least face it when it arose among his own peers. He would overcome his fears not only of danger, but of speaking out in the face of injustice when it came from his own side.


End file.
